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Authors: Laura Resnick
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had always assumed. "Don't you have any family you can go to?"
"I must stay in Sanctuary." She clearly wasn't pleased about it.
"Why?"
Instead of answering him, she gestured to his arm. "I must splint that."
Fear made his belly roil in protest. "Uh, I think I'd like something strong to drink before you do that."
"Oh. Yes. I'll get you something."
When he opened his eyes again, she was lifting his head to help him drink some... "Kintish fire brandy!" He choked and his eyes watered.
"Is it too strong?" she asked.
"Absolutely not," he said, afraid she'd take it away. "Give me some more. Lots more."
"As you wish, toren ."
"Bless you... Uh, what's your name?"
She hesitated briefly, then replied, "Jalilar."
"Jalilar," he murmured. "A lovely name."
Chapter Four
The bitter heart eats its owner.
—Kintish Proverb
By the time they reached Baran's home at Lake Belitar, five days after their marriage, Mirabar knew that something was wrong.
Although Baran had married her to get a child, he hadn't touched her since their wedding night. Mirabar might be inexperienced, but she wasn't naive; men did not normally neglect their new brides this way. Moreover, the journey back to Belitar clearly taxed Baran more than it should. He looked gray-faced and exhausted. In addition, she knew by now that he was eating very little. Mirabar also realized a few days ago that Sister Velikar was treating him for something. However bizarrely fond of Velikar Baran might be, he hadn't brought her along to keep him company or even to vex Mirabar; he needed her to keep him functioning.
Mirabar didn't discuss this with Najdan or anyone else. Whether she liked it or not, Baran was her husband, and she must treat her marriage with respect. She would not gossip about him with others. She would, however, immolate him in his own bed if he didn't treat her with enough respect to tell her the truth now that they had finally reached the safety of his home.
"Some say this place is haunted," Najdan told her, with a failed attempt to sound casual, as the two of them now gazed upon Baran's notorious abode.
Mirabar shivered, well able to believe that the many people who had died violently here over the centuries still wandered Belitar, lost and helpless, unable to find their way to the Otherworld. Mist rose from the chilly, ensorcelled mountain lake, making this a damp place even in the dry season. Lush greenery thrived in the moist air, keeping the lake hidden and eerily remote. Now that she stood at the water's edge, Mirabar's vision was so obscured by the ever-shifting enchanted fog that it was easy, even by day, to imagine she saw fleeting shapes and shadows that were neither living people nor mere vapor.
Now, at Baran's silent command, the mist parted as smoothly as curtains, revealing the large, gloomy, crumbling castle that squatted on the island in the center of the lake.
Baran turned to her and smiled sardonically. "Welcome home."
Far in the distance, there was a crack of thunder from the volcano wherein dwelled Dar. Everyone in their party froze, looking at the sky to the southeast, waiting to see if the noise heralded an eruption. They were too far from Darshon to be immediately affected, but they would see it. Now black smoke billowed out of the snow-capped caldera to mingle with the brightly colored whirling clouds still surrounding the summit.
Baran laughed. "And the same back at you, you old bitch!" he called.
Mirabar gasped. Her escort of shallaheen muttered nervously. Velikar snorted. Haydar crept closer to Najdan.
"Can we leave now?" Pyron asked faintly.
"Not yet," Najdan replied.
The column of black, angry smoke rose higher and higher in the distant sky, filling Mirabar with mingled awe and fear.
Pyron said in a breathless voice, "I'd really rather be in battle. Or... or almost anywhere else than here with
"I must stay in Sanctuary." She clearly wasn't pleased about it.
"Why?"
Instead of answering him, she gestured to his arm. "I must splint that."
Fear made his belly roil in protest. "Uh, I think I'd like something strong to drink before you do that."
"Oh. Yes. I'll get you something."
When he opened his eyes again, she was lifting his head to help him drink some... "Kintish fire brandy!" He choked and his eyes watered.
"Is it too strong?" she asked.
"Absolutely not," he said, afraid she'd take it away. "Give me some more. Lots more."
"As you wish, toren ."
"Bless you... Uh, what's your name?"
She hesitated briefly, then replied, "Jalilar."
"Jalilar," he murmured. "A lovely name."
Chapter Four
The bitter heart eats its owner.
—Kintish Proverb
By the time they reached Baran's home at Lake Belitar, five days after their marriage, Mirabar knew that something was wrong.
Although Baran had married her to get a child, he hadn't touched her since their wedding night. Mirabar might be inexperienced, but she wasn't naive; men did not normally neglect their new brides this way. Moreover, the journey back to Belitar clearly taxed Baran more than it should. He looked gray-faced and exhausted. In addition, she knew by now that he was eating very little. Mirabar also realized a few days ago that Sister Velikar was treating him for something. However bizarrely fond of Velikar Baran might be, he hadn't brought her along to keep him company or even to vex Mirabar; he needed her to keep him functioning.
Mirabar didn't discuss this with Najdan or anyone else. Whether she liked it or not, Baran was her husband, and she must treat her marriage with respect. She would not gossip about him with others. She would, however, immolate him in his own bed if he didn't treat her with enough respect to tell her the truth now that they had finally reached the safety of his home.
"Some say this place is haunted," Najdan told her, with a failed attempt to sound casual, as the two of them now gazed upon Baran's notorious abode.
Mirabar shivered, well able to believe that the many people who had died violently here over the centuries still wandered Belitar, lost and helpless, unable to find their way to the Otherworld. Mist rose from the chilly, ensorcelled mountain lake, making this a damp place even in the dry season. Lush greenery thrived in the moist air, keeping the lake hidden and eerily remote. Now that she stood at the water's edge, Mirabar's vision was so obscured by the ever-shifting enchanted fog that it was easy, even by day, to imagine she saw fleeting shapes and shadows that were neither living people nor mere vapor.
Now, at Baran's silent command, the mist parted as smoothly as curtains, revealing the large, gloomy, crumbling castle that squatted on the island in the center of the lake.
Baran turned to her and smiled sardonically. "Welcome home."
Far in the distance, there was a crack of thunder from the volcano wherein dwelled Dar. Everyone in their party froze, looking at the sky to the southeast, waiting to see if the noise heralded an eruption. They were too far from Darshon to be immediately affected, but they would see it. Now black smoke billowed out of the snow-capped caldera to mingle with the brightly colored whirling clouds still surrounding the summit.
Baran laughed. "And the same back at you, you old bitch!" he called.
Mirabar gasped. Her escort of shallaheen muttered nervously. Velikar snorted. Haydar crept closer to Najdan.
"Can we leave now?" Pyron asked faintly.
"Not yet," Najdan replied.
The column of black, angry smoke rose higher and higher in the distant sky, filling Mirabar with mingled awe and fear.
Pyron said in a breathless voice, "I'd really rather be in battle. Or... or almost anywhere else than here with
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